


Tired and emotional

by morred



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morred/pseuds/morred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie is drunk and confessional, Malcolm is his usual self and Julius really just wants some biscuits and his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired and emotional

Julius's day _had_ been going rather well; the sort of day where progress had definitely been made on a particularly _knotty_ piece of legislation, by dint of painstaking preparation followed by measured negotiation and detailed scrutiny of the thornier issues.  
  
(Julius had always been faintly _dissatisfied_ by miracle solutions, quick fixes and deus ex machina resolutions. He prefered _hard work_ , _playing up and playing the game_ and _thinking things through_. Not the sort of slapdash, on the fly, _"_ policy _"_ that, for example, Malcolm Tucker produced 1 whenever it was necessary to feed the hacks.)  
  
A good day, but tiring and somewhat drawn out - Julius had been two cups into his second pot of tea of the day2 as John Humphreys began his ritual 8.10am savaging3 and it was now past 11pm.  
  
It was therefore with some trepidation that he noticed a dim light spilling into the corridor from the open door of his office - his office, from which his secretaries and assistants would have left long ago.  
  
1The Chief Press and Communications Officer does _not_ write policy. Malcolm Tucker might occasionally _suggest_ to a minister or their adviser that a certain _line_ would play well with the media or the PM, but policy decisions are clearly the remit of elected members of Parliament.  
2  Pot one is taken at home with the papers, pot two while dealing with the morning correspondence on arriving at the office. The first is always English Breakfast; the second, Assam, brewed strong.  
3Julius _likes_ to have Radio 3 on his office, but Malcolm has issued a decree that _everyone_ must consume some form of news media first thing in the morning, and Julius really _cannot_ stomach the rolling news channels until at least after elevenses.  
~  
  
Julius always thought that the best thing to do if one caught someone having a bit of a blub - particularly if the chap was evidently hoping not to be found - was either to exit silently or, if one's presence was noticed, to ignore the _circumstances_ as far as possible.  
  
Jamie Macdonald had had two hours' sleep in the last twenty-four and a total of 20 hours' in the last five days. This, combined with an open bar operating at the (strictly unofficial) reshuffle celebrations downstairs, had left him somewhat _fragile_.  
  
Once the small, sobbing, dark-haired bundle in one of Julius's armchairs raised sodden blue eyes (looking like a bushbaby caught in a rifle's night-vision crosshairs) Julius knew he wasn't going to be able to _leave_. He flicked the switch on the small electric kettle in a corner of the room.  
  
'I didn't expect to see you hear this late, James. Do you want- just got back from a policy meeting, you know, and we rather _skipped_ dinner. I was planning a thoroughly _wicked_ supper of- ah, I see you found them. Would you care for a cup of tea?'  
  
Julius was sidetracked at this point by thoughts of whether it was _patronising_ to wonder if James would prefer tea from a _mug_. Or even something _alcoholic_ , though from the look of things, alcohol was not something James had been _lacking_. Jamie managed a shaky nod and sprawled in the chair.  
  
Julius cudgelled his wits into action while his hands automatically organised a teapot and a second pack of biscuits. The only evidence of the first was a forlorn and squashed slip of cardboard scuffed under the armchair behind Jamie's feet. Of course, the second pack wasn't the Duchy Original Stem Ginger and Sicilian Lemon he'd been saving and which he doubted James had fully _appreciated_ , but they were still perfectly _pleasant_. And perhaps that was not the _most pressing_ issue at hand.  
  
''m sorry,' Jamie mumbled as he took a cup from Julius, slurring the words slightly and leaning across to put the saucer on the desk and wrapping both hands round the thin china. 'I didn't think you'd be here. And I couldnae- this is the quietest place I could think of. Knew you had a fucking stealth carpet and nice little _cushions_ and everything in here. Very ideal fucking homes in here.'  
  
He still looked woebegone, entirely unlike his usual frenetic, barely-contained-explosion-in-an-anger-f

actory self (though _thankfully_ he'd stopped sobbing; Julius, soft-hearted creature that he was, never could bear to see anyone cry). Julius topped up the tea. 'Is- you can tell me to go boil my head, if you want, but is there anything _wrong_? Your-' he paused, calling up his mental files on young James and any family or dependents and unusually (it was late) drawing a blank, '- no-one's _ill_ , I hope?'

'Is something _wrong_? Jesus. Did someone crack open your great shiny egg of a fucking head and scoop all your brains out? D'ye really think I'd be hiding in your room, greeting like a wee girl, if everything was _A fucking OK_?'

'There's no _need_ to- as you point out, you're in _my office_ , in a state of some _distress_ and naturally I would wish to offer any _support-_ '

' _He'sh_ back there,' Jamie said cryptically. 'Holding fucking court. King of the fucking world.'

'It has been a rather _trying_ week - a little celebration after a successul reshuffle4 would seem in order. Rally the troops and so on and so forth. And Malcolm has done exceptionally well...'

4 Successful _in the end_. After the minister tipped for the Home Office was discovered by the News of the World to have turned his _own_ home office into The Right Hon Member for Fuckton's Porn Emporium and the Foreign Secretary had had a rather _colourful_ past, with some unorthodox ways of _getting closer to the locals_ when abroad. Malcolm had, eventually, managed to persuade the papers that the line on this should be _Genius PM cruelly let down by Moronic Ministers_.

Julius trailed off, unable to stop his eyes following Jamie's hand as he began to gesticulate, still holding his teacup and sprinkling Julius's carpet with Assam.  'Of course he _deserves_ it. He's a fucking- bloody _genius_. Worth ten of any of those other braindead cunts. That's not the _point_.' Jamie sounded _threatening_ , as though Julius had in fact suggested Malcolm was an idiot.

Julius was increasingly of the opinion that there should be some sort of _guide_ , or perhaps a _dictionary_ , to help decode what James - still evidently _upset_ \- was on about. 'He's got _them_ now. The arselickers and the cocksuckers and the Ollie fucking Readers. _Oh Malcolm you're so fucking amazing_. _Let me get that for you, Mr Tucker Sir. Is my head far enough up your_ ** _arse_** _sir?_ ' Jamie's voice fluted up into a passable imitation of DoSAC's finest. 'And he doesn't need me there. Doesn't _want_ me. 'parently I'm only good enough for black ops crisis meetings at 4am, peeling his satsumas and tattooing the fucking _line_ into hacks eyeballs an' rearranging their tendons so all they can type is what we fucking tell them to type. Once it's _sorted_ and we've smoothed the earth back over all the bodies, it's 'bye bye, Jamie. Back in your box.''

Julius reminded himself it was _rude_ to gape and hid behind a sip of his tea. 'That's not true, James. Malcolm thinks the _world_ of you. Anyone with a modicum of perception could see that.'

Jamie looked sceptical. He pushed himself to his feet and began to pace, none too steadily. After about a minute, he whirled to face Julius (who had seized the opportunity to have another biscuit), hands balled into fists at his sides. 'I _want_ him,' he confessed, angrily and defiantly. He failed to notice Julius's complete lack of surprise. 'Not _to think the world of me_ , like I'm fucking _Sam_ or, or _you_.' Julius coloured faintly. ''king hell, Julius. You've _seen_ him.'

Julius pretended to consider it, schooling his face carefullly. 'Malcolm's an attractive man,' he managed finally, his expression suggesting this was the first time he'd thought about it. No one would have guessed from his tone that he'd had several quite _vivid_ fantasies, in the midst of an argument with Malcolm, of the moment when the shouting would cease and Malcolm would allow Julius to bend him over his own desk.

'He's a skinny anaemic _vampire_ ,' Jamie muttered, 'with stupid grey hair and stupid _never eating_ \- and he's fucking _beautiful_.'

Julius murmured something that could be taken as reserved agreement.

'Not that it matters. It's all _pointless_. I'm his weapon of mass destruction - massive _painful_ destruction, not- '

'Not his lover,' Julius said quietly, which provoked an avalanche of (frankly, Julius thought, _homophobic_ ) swearing which Julius nevertheless took as a _yes_.

Julius Nicholson had been turned to many times for relationship advice5: he had a large circle of friends and was kind, sensible, non-judgemental and kept a well-stocked drinks cabinet. This is no way prepared him for the task of advising on the burgeoning love of a miniature, borderline-psychotic Glaswegian for a compatriot (less miniature but no less psycho).

  
5 Julius did sometimes think that the ratio of time spent helping other people with their relationships to time spent in a relationship was not _optimal_ for his own happiness.  


The thought of what _courtship rituals_ might be approprite quite frankly _scared_ him. He knew Malcolm had met his ex-wife at university, where he had pretended to be interested in feminist dialectic and the philosophical underpinnings of radical socialism 6 to win her affection7. He had no idea (no did he _want_ to know) how Jamie had attracted his ex-wife. Clubbed her over the head and dragged her back to his cave by the hair, possibly. Or won her in a fight in a pub.

  
6 As opposed to Malcolm's instinctive grasp of the _practicalities_ of fucking the posho elitist cunts at the fucking top and then bulldoze the fucking top so the fucked fuckers had nowhere to fucking _stand_ , so everyone can have a fair fight.  
7 It had been a very _short_ marriage.  


Julius chided himself for these _uncharitable_ thoughts.

'Does he _know_ how you feel?'

Jamie looked as him as though he'd suggested stopping a raging bull by asking it politely. 'No, I fucking have _not_.'

'Did Malcolm actually _say_ he didn't want you this evening?'

Jamie scowled and slumped heavily down into the armchair. 'He didn't _speak_ to me. Though,' he added, glancing hopefully at Julius, 'maybe he was _working_ \- talking to all the buggers making their way up the greasy pole.'

'Malcolm certainly is _useful_ , for grasping people like that. He can grease the wheels-'

'Or the _pole_ ,' Jamie suggested sounding more like his usual self and leering slightly.

'He watches you, you know.' Julius decided not to mention how he had noticed that. Watching Malcolm watching Jamie was perhaps not the most _profitable_ use of his time, but then again, at some of the meetings they all went to it was as useful as anything else. 'One might even say he can't take his eyes off you. And you're the only person I've ever seen make him laugh. Deliberately, that is, at a _joke_ ,' he clarified. Malcolm laughed _at_ a lot of people.

Jamie sat a little straighter. 'So you think I should tell him?'

'I thought both you and Malcolm had taken an oath never to take any advice I might give,' Julius couldn't help saying.

'Aw, come on. Don't be like tha' Julius. This isn't about how we'd be happier if we used _pink_ post-it notes or why don't we sort out the Middle East by getting everyone to sit down with a nice cup of tea.'

Somewhat mollified, Julius handed Jamie another biscuit. 'I don't think Malcolm would ever move definitely to _precipitate_ events. So if you _wish_ to move things _forward_ , I think the burden falls on you.'

'Can I have another cup of tea? Fucking champagne all round down there - well, whisky then champagne. Never have liked champagne.'

'The devil's fizz,' Julius intoned seriously, smiling when Jamie sniggered. Though, _really_ , unless Malcolm had increased the entertainment budget, he doubted it was true _champagne_ were drinking. And even then, Malcolm knew better than to cast pearls before swine.

Jamie had just settled into his second cup and was trying - for about the sixtieth time in their acquaintance - to explain the intricacies of a football match to a politely bewildered Julius when a thin shadow appeared in the doorway.

'What's this, then,' Malcolm said cheerilyy and nastil. 'Storytime at Baldy Nicholson's outreach programme? Why the fuck are you still here, Julius? Aren't your lavender-scented pyjamas and _Sailing By_ waiting for you at home? And _you_ ,' he turned to face Jamie, who instinctively leant forward in his chair8. 'Where the fuck were you? Leaving me with the Tristram Hand-Shandy brigade all evening. Not even _semi-intelligent_ lifeforms there. _'_

  
8 Jamie was the only person Julius had ever observed who reacted to Malcolm's shouting by trying to get _closer_ to him. Julius considered this a sign either of brain damage (possibly sustained at a very young age, given James's _other_ personality traits) or true love.  


Julius suddenly realised that his office was _quite a long way_ from Malcolm's - either Malcolm had made a beeline here (unlikely) or he'd been searching for Jamie for some time. This was definitely an _encouraging_ sign. _Someone_ , Julius thought wistfully, should make Malcolm happy.

'Actually, Malcolm, I was just leaving,' he announced with dignity. 'If you'd lock the door when you leave?' With a significant look at Jamie, he swept together his things and walked out.

'So, d'ye want to tell me what you and Baron Hard-on of Shinydome were discussing so happ'ly?'

'We were discussing,' Jamie said lightly, standing up and getting almost toe-to-toe with Malcolm, 'whether you'd ever admit that you want me to fuck you.'

It _could_ have been a joke, if necessary, another insult, another challenge. But Jamie was close enough to catch the swift intake of breath and the sudden blackness of Malcolm's eyes.

'You little-' he began.

'This is your chance to say no,' Jamie informed him solemnly, something screwing tighter and tighter around his heart. His pulse was hammering so loudly he could hardly hear.

There was a beat of silence, then Malcolm made a confused movement, grabbing a handful of Jamie's shirt and trying to push him against a wall and bring him _closer_ at the same time, and crushed his lips against Jamie's.

'Malcolm-' Jamie gasped, and then, 'thank _god_ ,' before he took control of the situation and backed Malcolm up against Julius's desk.

Several frenzied minutes later, Malcolm's (expensive, Armani) jacket was lying on the floor (he didn't even _care_ ), his shirt half-clawed-off and Jamie's eyes were twice their normal size beneath his dishevelled curls.

'Home,' Malcolm gasped, one hand grasping Jamie's shoulder in a deathgrip. 'Come back to mine?'  Jamie thought he might faint. Malcolm, misinterpreting Jamie's lack of response, forced fingers to unbend from Jamie's shoulder. 'If this an office fuck, because you're drunk and it'd be a fucking good end to a week where we've both been wading waist-deep in _shite_ , then we fuck here and never speak of it again. _Never_ , Jamie, you hear? It happens once. If it's no' that, then you're coming home. Because I'll not have our first fuck on Julius's desk, however much the pervert'd enjoy the thought.'

Jamie swayed very slightly, and leant his weight more securely against Malcolm. Malcolm involuntarily twisted a hand into the hair at the back of his neck. 'So which'll it be?'

Malcolm only then became aware that the faint dampness against his collar wasn't just Jamie's overhearted breathing. 'Jesus, Jamie. It's ok, sweetheart. What- what did I say? I'm sorry.'

Jamie forced himself to swallow and pulled back, sniffling slightly, until he could see Malcolm's face. ''s not you,' he reassured him, grinning. 'Take me home?'


End file.
